


a smile relieves a heart that grieves

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: Tony Stark once had a son. After a terminal diagnosis and months of hoping for the best, Tony is left alone. And then, a few years later, Peter Parker comes along.
Relationships: Friday & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 51
Kudos: 153





	1. proud of you, kiddo

**Author's Note:**

> i just can't stop writing so let's see if this one plays out  
> follow me on [tumblr](https://itsybitsyspiderling.tumblr.com/) if u would like!

_“I want to be like you. I want you to be proud of me.”_

Tony listened carefully to each tick of the nearest wall clock—five hundred minutes and counting, and each new set of eyes that came and went reminded him of the time that had passed by. Slowly. It all happened so slowly. A sticky Reader’s Digest sat on his lap, still having been opened to page forty-two for the past few hours, but his mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t caught up in the latest health food craze or the up-and-coming trendy blogs that circulated the social media labyrinth. He wasn’t worried about the secret to fighting fatigue; that job was being done for him. **11:45 AM.**

****The clock on the wall was a minute faster than the watch on his wrist. He wondered which one was accurate and if it would make any difference. Beneath his chair and the minty green leather upholstery, he kept a plastic bag full of belongings tucked against his shins. A t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants, Adidas slides, and Nike socks.

He hated waiting rooms. Televisions playing subtitled soaps, fake dusty houseplants in wicker baskets, a stack of magazines touched by a few thousand people, and a tired nurse behind a desk most likely playing Tetris instead of working. She glanced up every half-hour, peering over her computer with curious eyes, but she never spoke to him. Never asked what he was in for. Never bothered about Iron Man and _all that crap_.

She sat at a desk in the surgery waiting room—she knew her boundaries. She knew how to respect him.

**11:52 AM.** Tony had seen the same Geico commercial seventeen times, the one with the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote, and he knew it by heart. Four hours of watching a CGI gecko explain auto insurance while nurses hurried by and snapped their heads back to meet his gaze. They all stopped and stared. All of them. Tony waved at the ones who said ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’. He gave them his best tight-lipped smile and returned his attention to a new Campbell’s soup ad.

His eyes burned. If it was partially due to the buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead, he would have removed them by now, but that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t been sleeping. For three days, Tony hadn’t slept a wink. When he did sleep, he saw those monsters—those alien _things_ —attacking him from all angles, up, down, left, right, and so on. They were everywhere, menacing and ugly. He saw that darkened glimpse of endless space before plunging back into oblivion. He saw the sorrowful faces of surgeons and doctors; he heard their voices in low registers utter the name of his son. Flatlined. Deceased. Gone. Dead. And then Tony would stir awake in a sweat.

Twenty-four hours and seven days a week, his hands shook with fear.

He had been this scared before, but never in this way. He had never been scared to lose anyone but himself.

Tony could smell a cart full of hot lunches as it rattled its way down the hall. **12:28 PM.** Was that the time? Five hours ago seemed like twenty minutes. He hadn’t eaten a crumb since the night prior; the thought of grilled cheese made his stomach eat at its own lining. If he left, he could miss the doctor. He could miss the good news, the bad news, or a little something in between. He could miss the monitor change to Post-Op if he all but blinked an eye. Tony disregarded the numbness in his feet and breathed through his nose.

Another hour or two. He could wait another hour or two.

Two nurses stood at the desk beside the receptionist, attention engrossed in a conversation while their eyes occasionally met Tony’s. They talked of fine wine and spirits and trivia night at the closest downtown bar. They talked about New York—not the place but the event, and Tony pressed his palms into his ears to drown out their discussion. His back ached from bending over his knees for so long.

**12:46 PM.** Pepper arrived with two coffees. She was on her lunch break, but she decided to take the afternoon off. With the way she sat beside him, he could tell she was handling things better than him.

“You’ve been watching soap operas all morning?” She looked so put-together, pristine and immaculate and too good for Tony. Her lipstick bewitched him. “Could’ve at least asked them to turn on a few talk shows.”

Tony shook his head, strands of hair falling over his eyes. The more he moved, the more disoriented he felt. He felt lost. “No,” he said. “No, they’ll just talk about—” He inhaled sharply. _Me._

“Ah, I see.” Pepper nodded, and he could see the worry behind her smile. “Why don’t you go take a walk? Get up and stretch your legs. Use the bathroom, wash your face. And please, Tony, get yourself something to eat.” She spoke with the ease of coercion. She knew her presence influenced an immediate pause of self-destruction.

He sighed. A walk sounded nice. “Yeah, fine,” he whispered, allowing his joints to stretch and creak as he sat up in his chair. “You’ll call if you hear anything?”

“Somehow I have a feeling you’ll know something before me,” Pepper said with a smile. When he prepared himself to stand, she tugged him back down by his sleeve and placed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s gonna work out.”

Tony smiled at her words. He loved her. If only he knew how to say it. “It’s gonna work out,” he repeated, hopeful that if he meant it, then maybe the words would come true.

* * *

“Fri, I’m gonna need you to jot this down for me,” he said, wristwatch up to his lips while he carried a cart of tools in tow, “sector six is restricted to hard hat zone only—unless you’re Steve. Nothing can penetrate that thick head of his. Whoever installed the electricals in there clearly has their brain stuck so far up their ass, no oxygen can even get to it. It’s _whatever_ by this point because some eggheaded idiot decided they’d scrape up the paneling, so I needed to renovate anyway. Oh, and I need more of those three-eighth-inch bolts. Not the matte ones. Get me the largest pack you can find.”

His voice echoed down the compound halls, bouncing off of metal and tile until it came right back to him. The wheels on the cart behind him squeaked with every turn.

“And put some oil on the list,” he added.

With it being summer, the air conditioning cost had come back in startling numbers. It wasn’t an issue for him, and neither was thawing out the AC vents if they ran too cool. Tony didn’t hire people to do the dirty work when he had the proper experience to do it instead. It was his contribution these days. It was all he could do.

He had ZZ Top on the brain, humming loud while he strolled down the overpass that connected the main building to the hangar. A man dressed in a well-fitting suit stood with his hands in his pockets up ahead.

At the sight, Tony raised a brow and rolled his eyes. “Don’t remember giving you clearance to be here,” he asked, releasing his grip on the metal cart behind him. “Pretentious pricks sit on the lowest spot of the totem pole ‘round these parts, I’m afraid. But, I can get you an escort if that would make you more comfortable.”

The man chuckled and stepped forward. “Stark.”

“Ross.”

He held out his hand.

“You want me to shake that?” Tony asked.

“I want you to do what you think is best,” Thaddeus replied with a smirk.

Tony looked down at the gesture and contemplated his options. What he considered best interfered with what _was_ best. He sucked in a sharp breath, reached out to shake the man’s hand, and let go with a firm squeeze. “Got what you wanted? Good,” Tony said. “You can leave now.”

Thaddeus laughed again. It was like he got off on being disliked and distrusted. “Oh, Stark, you’ve always had a way with words,” he muttered, not bothering to step out of the way. “Where are you off to, then? The conference room is the other way. Unless you’ve lost your sense of direction again.”

“Not attending.”

“Why not?”

Tony shrugged. He picked up a socket wrench from the cart behind him and fiddled with it; it was a way of keeping his hands busy in order to keep from punching Ross’ teeth in. “Bet you’ve already got that answer up there in that noggin’ of yours,” he said as continued walking.

“We could use you, you know,” Ross stated. “If you ever thought about—”

Tony stopped in place, turning around as he replied with, “Not a chance in hell. You know why, Thunderbolt?”

“Enlighten me.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ve been a weapon in your eyes for as long as you’ve known me,” he began, “and nothing I do—or _say_ , for that matter—has ever been able to change your mind. I’ve been breaking my back to make sure this world is safe without actually putting myself out there again—and now you want me to? What kind of fucked up games are you playing here, Ross?”

The Secretary of State seemed to be unfazed by Tony’s harsh tone. A small smile formed underneath his caterpillar stache. “I see you as an ally, Stark. What you’ve done for us, for the government, it’s—

“Saving your asses, is what we’ve done,” Tony said. “Back in 2012, you would’ve rather dropped a bomb over seven million people than have us clean up that mess. Look what happened. You build yourself up so high on the successes and failures of others and only take credit where you think it’s due. You wanna hold us by a string. That’s not hard work, honey. That’s not good sportsmanship. That’s a con. But, I guess we both know you have a kink for power.”

Thaddeus narrowed his gaze. “I’m doing what’s best for our nation. For the world.”

“Ask someone who cares.”

“I figured you would be the only one who would,” he said with confidence. “You’re the only one around here who has their morals in check it seems.”

Tony’s brows knitted together, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening as he took a step toward Ross. “Why? Because I’m not out scrapping my ass on every alien or superhuman that pops out of the sky or touches our _precious_ American soil? Just because I’m behind-the-scenes doesn’t mean the others are any less important. Forget about Lagos. Forget about the destruction. _We_ are Earth’s best defenders. But you can’t handle us. I’d be up there in seconds just to make you look like a real tool, Thad.”

Thaddeus smiled. “I’ve cheated death a handful of times, Stark. I’ll never be cheated out of getting what I want.”

“You and me both, sport,” Tony replied following a scoff. His blood was boiling. “I’ve got work to do.” He started off in the other direction.

“Swing by the conference room in ten minutes,” Thaddeus called down the bridge. “You’ll wanna hear what I have to say.”

Tony carried on walking. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“Suit yourself, Stark.”

“I already have.”

* * *

His son’s hair still smelled of chlorine.

The car ride home was full of silence—aside from the radio—and in that silence, Tony struggled to find the right thing to say. _It’s okay, Morgan, you just gotta pick yourself back up. Try again_. He didn’t realize that there would never be another _again_. In Tony’s eyes, failure was the one thing that kept him humble. It kept him striving to be better, but a thirteen-year-old who strayed from the pack—who hardly saw his father within himself—opted not to listen.

A small sniff came from the passenger seat. So, Tony reached over and turned down the radio.

“I was listening to that,” Morgan muttered. He had his sweatshirt hood over his head. Malibu Sharks 2011 Champions.

“And I was hearing the deafening sound of nothing,” Tony replied, soon letting out a sigh when his son didn’t react. “Okay, all right. Fine. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanna know this—are we still doing McDonald’s? Because I’ve had a hankering for a Big Mac and a McFlurry ever since the meet, and—”

“ _Yes_.” Morgan managed a small chuckle as he leaned against the window. “We can still go to McDonald’s. You’re a toddler.”

“You’re shorter _and_ younger,” Tony said, maneuvering through traffic so he could get to the right side of the road, “therefore, you, Morgan, are the toddler. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.”

He turned the volume of the radio back up, a Maroon 5 song coming through the speakers while the pair fell quiet once again. The right thing to do was speak up, talk about it, but repressing emotions was a common family trait. There were many tendencies, sometimes compulsive, that Tony didn’t want to teach his son—refusing to let out a normal range of human emotions was one of them.

Once they got their burgers and parked out by the pier, he shut off the music again.

“I know you’re upset,” he said, “you can talk about it. Let out all of your emotions and whatnot. Like, c’mon, that Andrew kid definitely cheated. Right?”

Morgan lowered his chin. “He didn’t cheat,” he mumbled. “Everyone’s just better than me. I think I should just quit.”

Tony sat back, raising his eyebrows at the statement. Starks weren’t quitters. “Don’t know who taught you that attitude, but it definitely wasn’t me. Was it Happy? Rhodey?”

“No.”

“Well, I, for one, I’m not gonna let you quit,” Tony said, biting into his burger and speaking through a mouthful. “I’m also not gonna be that awful parent who forces things onto you. So, it’s your choice. You either go to another meet or two, or you ride the wave into high school, see if you like it, and if not, then you can quit. You tell me what it is. It’s only March, kiddo. There’s so much time left.”

Morgan kept his eyes on his lap. His hoodie still covered his face, but his body language spoke louder than his hidden expression. When he finally looked over at Tony, he had tears brimming in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tony whispered, setting down his hamburger. He leaned over the console and placed his arms around Morgan. “What’s wrong?”

Soft sobs met him in response.

“Kiddo,” Tony breathed out. His son tensed in his embrace as he rubbed his back.

“I came in last,” Morgan cried out. “Last. Everyone on my team had these a-amazing times, and I—” He choked out another sob. “I suck. Why’d you let me sign up for the stupid swim team in the first place?”

Tony chuckled. “Because you wanted to sign up,” he said, pulling away to look at Morgan. “You were excited to try something new. I’d been hounding you to join robotics and all those tech-ed clubs, but you’re not like your old man. And, your friends were on the swim team, so you were gonna do it no matter what I told you. You like swimming, yeah?”

Morgan nodded and wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

“So, we keep on this train for a while longer, then,” Tony continued, smiling. He tugged his son’s hoodie down over his eyes, and the quiet sobs turned to laughter. “Gotta see where things take you in life, Morgan, no matter the consequence. Failure or success, we gotta grow and learn. All you gotta do is keep trying.”

After a few long seconds, Morgan smiled, too. He mumbled, “thank you,” and picked up his Oreo McFlurry.

“Honestly, I’m glad you’re doing your own thing,” Tony said as he took one last bite of his burger. “My dad didn’t really give me a choice. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself. Don’t forget that.”

Morgan sniffed again.

“What?”

He shook his head. “It’s just—I-I want to be like _you_. I want you to be proud of me.”

Tony’s chest burned, and it wasn’t the arc reactor’s fault for once. His eyes glassed over with tears while he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I am proud of you, kiddo. So proud. No matter what you do. I’ll always be proud of you.”

Morgan nodded and smiled.

“Now, we gotta get home before Pep flies in from New York,” Tony said. “If she finds out we made the living room into a giant slip ‘n slide, we’ll both be dead.”

* * *

Whenever the lights in the workshop were off, everyone knew not to disturb Tony. He sat in the dark, one or two monitors illuminating blue hues on his features while he stared at files in a daze. Old Iron Man crap—things he hadn’t touched since 2012. They were all reminders of the reason why he became Iron Man in the first place. To make it out alive, for Morgan. To be a hero, for Morgan. And then to almost die a countless number of times only for his son to watch in fear.

Tony never once imagined the roles would somehow reverse one day.

No quippy conversation with FRIDAY or a steaming hot cup of coffee could change his mood on harder days. Nothing but the sounds of planes taking off in the distance could interrupt his thoughts.

Some days, he considered taking a suit out for a spin. He considered flying to Bermuda, getting lost over a vast ocean, and returning home sixty years later, somehow never having aged a day. Sixty years was enough time for people to forget about him.

But, instead, Tony closed the files and stored them away. Far away with encryptions and passcodes he never remembered to write down. If he needed to see the files so badly, it would only take a minute to break back in. For now, in the dark workshop where he sulked, he could only scroll through the latest trends.

The national news was a political nightmare. For once, the local news had more to offer as he reread an article title a million times over in his head.

_Amazing Spider-Man Saves Bus Full of Kids!_

That was new.

The video attached showed a red and blue blur while a car rushed by and crashed into a bus. Hold up—wait a minute. Tony replayed the video, furrowing his brows tight once the crash occurred again. The Spider-Guy had jumped in. Spider-Dude really _did_ save a bus full of kids.

Tony was at a loss for words. He rubbed the corners of his eyes and his temples before playing the video eight more times. The sirens from the video echoed throughout the workshop. The guy hadn’t only swung through the air—he stopped a few-thousand-ton car with little to no repercussions. Not even a scratch on the bus. Tony couldn’t believe it.

“FRIDAY, lights please,” he uttered, clapping into the air while the workshop came to life around him. He stood and cracked his spine. “Honey, I’m gonna need you to do me a favor. I’m gonna need you to find me anything you can on that Spider-Man fella. Anything. Security footage. Snapgram. Instachat. I don’t care. I’ve got ideas brewin’, and that shitty little twenty-pixel video isn’t helping.”

_“Right away, Boss.”_

Tony folded his arms and stared at the paused footage. “Okay, Ross,” he said, smirking. “This is gonna feel like a big old ‘fuck you’. You hate the Avengers so much? Meet our newest prospect.”


	2. can't sleep, super freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony still fears destruction in his wake, meanwhile, Spider-Man interrupts him from a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! i hope the jump from flashbacks to present isn't too jarring/confusing. let me know if it is! i can add timestamps or add some keywords to make it more clear. thanks! <3 
> 
> and thank you for all of the comments on the first chapter! can't wait to show you what i have in store (a.k.a. i can't wait to finally get to the irondad fluff)

They had him on fluids for over half of the trip home.

Each bump of turbulence or playful shoulder pat from Rhodey disturbed the needle in Tony’s arm, causing a wince and a muttered insult until the pain ceased moments later. The more he spoke, the more his throat burned. So, he kept quiet, and for the most part, everyone else did too.

Three months. Tony had been gone for three months. He and Yinsen tallied each day, but they were lost on where time stood. They were lost on the hope of one day making it out of there alive and unharmed. And only Tony survived. What a wicked way to live after witnessing a good man’s death.

Every part of him ached, although the mentality of it all far outweighed the physical. A sling was strapped to his arm, and there were a few dozen scrapes all over his body, yet he couldn’t help but think of what life would be like months from now. He didn’t know if he would sleep soundly or if his own son would have to read him a bedtime story to make the nightmares go away. _His son_.

Of the million different thoughts running through Tony’s head, his son was every other one. The nine-year-old had only just recently congratulated his father on yet another Apogee award, and then it was radio silence. Tony went missing, and by this point, Morgan most likely thought he was dead. If it were the other way around, Tony didn’t know how he would cope.

He fasted his tie with one hand. It was an ugly suit—he would have never chosen it—but he accepted the pampering with an eager familiarity. He’d been peeing in a pot for three months; it was nice to finally have clean underwear. But he still didn’t feel clean. The dirt from the cave stuck beneath his nails, and he could still smell the faint aroma of sweat and blood. This was the reality he would forever have to face—the constant uncertainty of what came next. He knew nothing would ever be normal again.

Rhodey sat beside him, but he didn’t bother glancing over. “He’s gonna be there, Tony.”

Tony hummed.

“Morgan,” Rhodey said, and the name itself stirred anxiety. “He’s gonna be there with Pepper.”

“Is he—” Tony clenched his jaw, feeling his fingers curl into a tight fist on his knee. All he wanted was to see his son. He didn’t want to see anyone else. Not even reporters, but ultimately, he knew he would have to.

“She looked after him.”

Tony nodded.

Rhodey was quiet for a few seconds, and then sharply, he said, “everyone thought you were dead, Tones. There are gonna be some emotions you may not wanna deal with right now. But Morgan is—”

“How is he?”

“Coping,” Rhodey answered. “It’s been hard. But he’s gonna be real excited to see you.”

Tony nodded. He wanted to smile. He wanted to be excited, but he couldn’t. “Yeah.”

“Tony?”

“Hm?”

Rhodey’s eyes softened. “Are you okay?”

Tony thought that was a loaded question and an inappropriate one at best. The answer was clear. He looked over at his friend without batting an eye. “I just escaped death, Rhodey. What? Don’t I look okay?”

“Well—” Rhodey cracked a small smile. “—You kinda look like you wanna kill everyone on board this plane right now.”

“I’ve thought about it.” Tony looked away again. He didn’t want anyone to see how he was trying not to cry.

“What happened back there?”

He shook his head, stretching his back against the side of the plane while his arm screamed in pain. Yet, he chose to not show it. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to appear vulnerable, not even now. “Weapons,” he muttered, biting his lip. “They had my weapons.”

Rhodey stared at him, his confusion clear.

Tony was starting to feel overwhelmed. They hadn’t even touched down in California yet. “I don’t—I can’t—” He sighed. “I can’t be the face of this—this _destruction_ anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

The aircraft jolted as the wheels lowered, indicating their initial descent, and Tony’s stomach tied in knots. He swallowed, fumbling with his seatbelt before Rhodey reached over to help him.

“What do you mean by destruction, Tony?” his friend asked again.

“It means I’m gonna do what’s best for once in my life.”

* * *

“You gonna tell anyone what you’re working on?”

Tony straightened his spine, fingers toying around with a rubber band while he looked toward the door. Rhodey stood with a bottle of beer in one hand and his other arm draped around his torso. He had that familiar disapproving-look about him, one that Tony familiarized himself with so early on in their friendship. His favorite thing about Rhodey was the fact that he could call him out on bullshit.

Tony swiped away at the holograms before him, and the files and designs vanished into thin air. “Not workin’ on anything,” he mumbled. He turned toward the door and folded his arms. “What’s up, pumpkin? Here to tell me that you’re leaving, too?”

“No one is leaving you, Tony,” Rhodey said. “There are indifferences. No one is leaving.”

“Yeah?” Tony raised a brow. “And what about Pepper? Huh? What about—?” He cut himself off before the name could leave his lips. He swore he’d never bring his son up in conversation that way.

Rhodey’s disapproval seemed to dwindle as he stepped down into the workshop. “This is different. This one’s about us—all of us. Our team. It’s not just your team, Tony.”

“Last I checked I recruited them,” Tony remarked.

“And somehow, you still do an awful job at being a leader.”

He held a hand to his heart and gasped. “That cuts deep, James.” His offended gag quickly fell. “Rehearse that one in the mirror? Wrote it down in your pocket-book list of insults?” As Tony spoke, he leaned back over his desk. Something about the presence of _anyone_ these days made his agitation skyrocket. He took a small sip of coffee and winced. Too sweet.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I got a few notebooks full of ones just for you,” Rhodey replied. “Tony, seriously, this is getting out of hand. You’re gonna end up pushing all of us away.”

With that, Tony pivoted on his heel to face Rhodey, a new emotion steaming through him as he furrowed his eyebrows. “You think I can help this? You think I’m not tired of all of this crap? We are creatures of habit. It’s not just about Lagos anymore. Not about Wanda or Vision. We, as in all of us, have become destructive. _We_ are destruction. I cannot be the face of destruction, Rhodey, I just can’t.”

Rhodey frowned and nodded slowly.

“I’m not _pushing_ people away,” Tony muttered, turning around. “It’s them who are pushing me past my breaking point.”

“You’re right.”

He glanced back over at his friend.

“Serious,” Rhodey said. “No one would be here without you. This place would be a plot of grass and trees. S.H.I.E.L.D. would have lost everything. You’re the reason any of us still have something to live for. And what do you have, Tony? Seriously. Look around. You’ve got this big facility, made it a home and made it a family. And what else have you got?”

“Yeah, thanks for the pep talk.”

“I’m not done.”

Tony sighed.

“My point is, Tony,” Rhodey continued, “there’s more to this. More than all of this. No one is leaving. You’ve got a team full of superheroes, man—someone is bound to stray from the pack. But we’re still here. Okay? We’ve still got your back like we know you have ours. I’m on your side.”

Tony nodded, allowing his friend’s words to fully sink in before looking him in the eye again.

“Now, what _are_ you working on?” asked Rhodey. “It’s eleven o’clock at night and you’re drinking coffee.”

“Just got my eye on something,” Tony said with a shrug. “An idea. A prospect.”

“A person?”

He smirked. “Something like that.”

* * *

The whole house was quiet. It was too warm, too comfortable, and Tony didn’t like that he could see outside. And shutting the curtains made it too dark. For the first time since coming back home, he wished he was back in that cave. He couldn’t sleep. He could hardly keep down food. Pepper had to stay over to keep both him and Morgan in check.

He turned over in bed—it was too big. Too much space for him. He didn’t know why he had a bed so big when he had no one to share it with. He turned over again, his comforter rustling as the wind picked up outside. JARVIS had warned about gale force winds overnight.

With a pillow over his head, Tony took a deep breath. He could count sheep. Counting sheep could work. One… two…

There was a small creak. Maybe just the wind.

Three… four…

Another creak. It sounded a bit closer this time. Probably nothing.

Five…

And footsteps. Footsteps?

“Daddy,” a young voice whispered. Oh. Morgan.

Tony pried open his eyes, but they hadn’t been tired to begin with. Before him, Morgan stood in his Lightning McQueen pajamas with a blanket pulled over him. His bedhead sat in shaggy strands on his forehead. A haircut was next up on the list.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony mumbled, groaning as he stretched his back. He stole a glance at his alarm clock. It was 3:42 AM. “You okay? Why’re you up?” Tony could ask himself the same question.

Morgan’s expression crumbled. Through hiccupy sobs, he stuttered out, “b-bad dream. Bad dream about you.”

Tony reached out and pulled his son in for a hug. This never happened often, if at all. Morgan never had bad dreams. They seemed to be coming in full-fledged after Tony returned home from Afghanistan. And he felt tremendously guilty for it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tony said slowly in a soothing tone. He rubbed circles onto Morgan’s back as he cried. “I’m here. I’ve got you, kiddo. You’re all right. Wanna climb in bed with me?”

Morgan nodded into his shoulder, and moments later, he climbed over Tony’s lap to lie on the other side of the bed. In an instant, he was back crying into his father’s arms.

“Y-you died,” Morgan said, voice muffled by Tony’s t-shirt. “I saw you. You died. There was fire and big explosions. And Pepper was there. She—she held me.”

Tony’s lip trembled. He could feel his own eyes start to water, but he swallowed down the prickle in his throat and held Morgan tighter. “I’m here,” Tony said. “We both are. You, me, and Pepper. We’re a—” He pulled his lip in between his teeth.

“Family?” Morgan finished.

“Yeah.” Tony smiled. “We’re a family.”

Morgan’s cries seemed to die out after a while. Nothing but the occasional sniff and a loosening grip as he dozed off to sleep.

“Love you, kiddo,” Tony whispered, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “I love you so much.”

* * *

Sometimes, Tony didn’t sleep, but other times, he was out by eight o’clock at night. With his hands stuffed beneath a pillow or a thick stack of files that had been dropped on his desk, he could fall asleep anywhere without the appropriate amount of caffeine. He stunned himself whenever he woke up in drool-stained-state, ink spots covering his cheek from where he had jotted ideas down onto his hand. He would parade around the compound with a chemical formula on half of his face—a certain formula that had been taken from a reverse-engineered version of Spider-Man’s webs.

No matter what, Tony couldn’t get the tacticity right.

So, clearly the guy was smart. All the more reason to add him to the team, if there happened to be a team left within the next week.

Tony had fallen asleep in the lounge, lungs heavy from a bout of shouting he found himself in when Ross called him on the phone. Tensions were high—too high, and Tony wanted to quit everything. He wanted to find Pepper, make everything better, and move somewhere no superhuman could ever find him. Or rather, he wouldn’t be able to find _them_.

Except he found a purpose in being a consultant. It was nice. It was something to do.

Now, he was out like a light, hardly dreaming so he could forget about his thoughts. Within the next moment, FRIDAY cut in, her voice startling him awake.

He groaned and rubbed at his face. The chaise he had fallen asleep on was less than comfortable—he would replace it, but he always seemed to forget. “Is—intruder?” he mumbled, still half-asleep and slightly nauseous. “What’s—what is it?”

_“There is new Spider-Man activity in Astoria. Robbery at a Sugar Freak on 30th.”_

Tony let out a long, deep breath as he sat up. “Super Freak?” he questioned. His knees cracked once he set his feet back onto the floor.

_“Sugar Freak.”_

“Oh.” He hummed. “M’kay. Meet me in the lab. Gimme some surveillance by the time I get there.” 

He took his sweet time, meandering through the kitchen for water and then into the bathroom for some Alka-Seltzer, and eventually, he made it to the workshop with one foot still asleep. A few monitors showing live surveillance footage were already on display as he entered, but none of them showed the swinging vigilante in his proud firetruck red and blueberry blue. Luckily, the new suit Tony had made was a little more subdued.

“Right, well, what am I seeing here, FRI?” Tony asked, folding his arms. He still felt a bit disoriented from having woken up so abruptly. “Where’s our guy?” He pulled a chair over so he could sit and watch. He should have made popcorn before this.

Just as Tony asked the question, Spider-Man came into view on the third camera along with three other men. He was outnumbered, and he looked ready to give up. All around them, chairs had been knocked over from their stacked position on tables. The footage jumped to another camera angle of the back of Spider-Man’s head.

“Any volume?” Tony said to FRIDAY.

_“Only in the first camera, Boss, but it’s angled toward the kitchen.”_

“Okay, gimme that but with camera four’s visual.” He brought his leg up as he spoke and rested his arm on top of it. This felt like a movie night to him, except with less food and less entertainment. However, he liked the idea of seeing Spider-Man in action.

Immediately, the audio from the restaurant filled Tony’s workshop.

 _“Sorry, guys, I really don’t wanna hurt you—”_ someone began, but right away, Tony knew the voice belonged to Spider-Man. It was oddly high—and pubescent. _“—but, c’mon, you haven’t really given me a choice. My friend’s uncle works here, and he’s a great guy, all right? Just go home, then you won’t get in trouble.”_

Tony sat up in his chair and raised an eyebrow. That was an odd interrogation. He’d have to work on that with him.

 _“Yeah, sure, we’ll do that,”_ another guy said sarcastically.He nodded toward the guy on his left. _“Go get the cash.”_ As one of the men started off toward a register, the action finally ensued.

Tony smiled the entire time. Spider-Man didn’t have a lot of experience—clearly by the way he spoke—but he could kick ass and make it look easy. Tony appreciated that. He appreciated that the guy somehow made his agileness look awkward as well. It was endearing. He had all three of the men webbed up to a wall within two minutes.

 _“Pleasure doin’ business with you guys,”_ Spider-Man said, saluting them before starting toward the door. _“I’d leave a business card, but I don’t actually have money to make them. Say hi to the cops for me!”_ With that, he backed out of the front and into the street.

Tony sat up. “FRI, follow him.”

The monitors switched footage in an instant, showing street cameras and Nests from nearby Jewelers and bodegas. Each monitor changed cameras rapidly as they followed Spider-Man down the avenue. There were times his nausea came back due to motion sickness, and there were other times he assumed he had lost the spider altogether.

For a few moments, Tony had to close his eyes. He wasn’t watching Spider-Man to be creepy. He was doing this so he could recruit the damn guy.

“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” he muttered under his breath, peeking at the footage through his fingers. “Where’s he now?”

 _“Elmhurst,”_ she answered. _“Heading into Forest Hills. He’s slowing down, Boss.”_

Tony dropped his hand and sighed. “How’s he getting there? Are the buildings even tall enough?”

_“It appears he’s been primarily traveling down Queens Boulevard.”_

“I guess that makes sense.” Tony closed his eyes again. God, he was still tired. What time was it? He hadn’t checked in hours. Being tired was better than not being tired at all—he’d dealt with plenty of that in 2012.

_“He’s stopped.”_

Tony opened one eye. All of the monitors showed a brick building, an apartment complex, from all different angles. But only one camera had a decent view of the Spiderling propped right up next to a window. He paused for a moment before pulling something up and over his head.

_His mask was off._

“Zoom in, zoom in,” Tony said quickly, leaning forward as if that would help him get a better view.

The footage was dark and grainy, yet it had managed to zoom in enough for FRIDAY to take frame-by-frame shots to get a better visual. Once Spider-Man crawled inside the window and shut it behind him, the AI had the photos displayed on all of the monitors.

“You’re better at this than me, honey,” Tony told her. “Got any information on this guy?”

 _“The quality is poor,”_ she said, _“but I’m currently running an analysis on all of the tenants within the three-building complex.”_

“You’re a doll.”

_“I’ve found a match, Boss.”_

Tony blinked. “Already?”

 _“Facial features best match Queens resident Peter Parker,”_ she explained. One of the monitors proceeded to show daylight surveillance footage of a young teen walking out of the building with headphones on.

Tony glanced back and forth between that picture and the one of the maskless Spider-Man. Shit. “Peter is—he’s—FRIDAY, that’s a _kid_.”

_“Peter is a freshman at the Midtown School of Science and Technology. He currently resides with his aunt Maybelle Parker in apartment 7F.”_

“Is that a college? High school?”

_“High school.”_

“Jesus. _Shit._ ” Tony leaned back in the chair, covering his face so he could register what he had heard. “Y-you’re telling me this kid is fifteen?”

_“He’s fourteen, Boss.”_

Tony let out a dry laugh and shook his head. “Shit. _Shit_.” His smile fell. He stood up moments later so he could pace, and he even kicked a few tables in the process. “A kid. It’s a fucking kid. What am I supposed to do with a _kid?_ ”

The question was rhetorical, yet FRIDAY answered with, _“he’s still Spider-Man, boss.”_

“I can’t recruit a kid, FRI!” he exclaimed. “I can’t get involved with another kid. I can’t—I can’t do that.” Tony felt a headache coming along. Not only was the Alka-Seltzer not working, but now he needed a pound of Asprin, too. This was a mistake.

It wasn’t possible. Fourteen-year-old kids couldn’t climb up walls and effortlessly swing through an entire borough before curfew. Well, neither could adults, but none of that mattered when he was having to deal with a _fourteen-year-old kid_. A kid! He was only barely into his teens. Tony couldn’t believe it.

But then again, FRIDAY was right. He was still Spider-Man. There was talent, agility, strength, passion—all of the things that Tony was looking for, and the only things that stood in his way were age and experience. No, definitely not. He absolutely could _not_ recruit him.

Tony glanced over suit designs he made specifically for Spider-Man. For _Peter_. He sighed. There was still something he _could_ do.

“Okay,” Tony said, “what’ve we got on the calendar for this weekend?”

_“What’s the plan, Boss?”_

“I wanna pay Mister Parker a visit.”


	3. a new normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief is hard, and Tony doesn't know what to do about Peter.

“Tony. Tony, _please_. Listen to me.”

“These? I want them gone,” he said, pointing to his motorbikes as he walked around the workshop. A frustrated Pepper trailed behind him. Meanwhile, an assortment of men stood around, taking any object they could get their hands on. “All of this. Get rid of it. _Ah, ah!_ Leave the robots. They’re idiot children but they’re sentimental. Don’t leave a thing. If you see five cents, get it the fuck out of here. I don’t carry around coins. I’m a billionaire—that’d be ridiculous.”

“Tony,” Pepper repeated. Her eyes were slightly swollen; she’d been crying earlier that morning. “You can’t—you can’t give away your things. What about Iron Man? What about the suits?”

“Well, they’re not taking the suits,” Tony muttered. “The suits are to be destroyed. Imminently.” He glanced around at the chaos ensuing, and not a single emotion washed over him as he witnessed all of his possessions—most of them prized—carted off to never be seen again. He pressed his lips together.

“D-destroyed?” Pepper gasped out, eyes wide and jaw slackened. “What has come over you, Tony? What the hell possessed you to—to just _throw away_ all of your work? I know I’ve called them distractions in the past, but this is crazy.”

She looked horrified, and she had every right to be. He wasn’t acting logistically—or sane for that matter—he knew for sure, but he didn’t care. It was who he was—born in the blood that still coursed through his veins, and there was no way he could grow out of that strain of carelessness he learned as a child. By this point, nothing mattered. Without his son, everything Tony had ever touched was only junk these days. Iron Man, the Avengers… none of it mattered, especially after the post-traumatic stress he endured because of New York.

He clenched his jaw, but he shook the tension away, bending down to help a stranger lift his beloved Samurai Chopper bike.

“Can’t talk,” he said to Pepper through his teeth. “Heavy object.” He could feel her eyes rolling behind his head. The lifting duty was quickly excited to another guy by the staircase. “Thanks, guys.”

“Tony,” she said for the—fourth? Fifth? Who knows?—time. Now, her voice was much softer. Sadder.

And Tony fell victim to it. He turned to face her, nostrils flaring as he pushed down the weight building in his chest. His eyes stung.

“What are you doing?” she asked. She no longer looked horrified. She only looked concerned.

“I-I can’t—” He inhaled sharply.

“We have to talk about this.”

Tony shook his head.

“Tony.”

“No, no,” he said, tone strong and confident as he waved his hand to shake the conversation off. He had successfully evaded the tears. “No, we don’t. I don’t deserve all of this, Pep. All of this—” He motioned to the workshop. The suits. The life he built for himself since 2008. “—means nothing. I don’t need it. I want it gone.”

“But why?”

“I should’ve done it sooner,” he said in avoidance of her question. “Should’ve torn the whole place to shreds. Should’ve been donating my assets, should’ve been giving everything— _everything_ —to those who really need it. What do I need? Boxes of scraps. A glass of whiskey. Four DVD copies of my stage production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ from 2005. Ambien. A year that finally has a zero in it so those stupid little New Year’s glasses can finally have two places for the eyes. I need—I need you. I need Happy, Rhodey, anyone. I need my fucking son.”

He had unsuccessfully evaded the tears. A few fell down his cheeks, and Pepper had bitten her lip to keep from crying too. She walked up to him slowly. Like an unspoken conversation, he fell into her shoulder, arms wrapping around her waist, and she held him close.

After a few moments of silence, she said to him, “this isn’t healthy, Tony,” as she pulled away. She still kept him near. “You can’t give away your belongings in hopes of escaping your problems. You can still donate. You can still do what you want with what you have. But Morgan—”

Tony’s body stiffened at the name.

“—he wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this,” she explained, expression tight like the words hurt her to say. She was grieving, too. “This isn’t what he would have wanted.”

Tony nodded.

“You’ve given millions to research,” Pepper said. “To universities, to hospitals, to the World Health Organization, to families, to—to _anyone_ who has given an ounce of their time to people like your son. And I know you’ll be giving millions more.”

“Billions,” he whispered.

She smiled, setting her hand against his cheek. “You’ve done so much. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

He nodded again and leaned into her touch. And he tried to smile too, but it crumbled. “Thank you. I love you.”

Pepper’s smile grew. “I love you.”

* * *

Tony was never going to get the kid involved in anything _ever_ _again_.

Spider-Man could handle his punches, but the minute he soared through the air without an ounce of preparation to catch his fall, Tony’s heart dropped. Neither of them were supposed to be there. The Iron Man suit felt foreign, clunky, and tight in all of the wrong places. He didn’t want this, and he especially hadn’t wanted to get Peter involved. If the kid had died, Tony wasn’t sure what he would have done.

It was a mistake. Spider-Man— _Peter_ —was a mistake. And now Tony had to either fix his mess or avoid it. Avoiding it seemed like the only option.

_“Boss, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”_

Tony was on a plane to who-knows-where when Happy called him. There weren’t friendships to mend or people to see—there was nothing. Nothing at all. Tony needed to be anywhere but at that goddamn facility.

“Why am I kidding you?” he asked, holding his phone far away so he could eat his ribeye while still looking decent. It was cold in the middle anyway. “What’d I do this time?”

 _“This frickin’ kid, Tony, he’s driving me nuts,”_ Happy explained. _“I’m exhausted.”_

“Yeah, you look it,” snickered Tony with a mouthful of glazed carrots. “What’d _he_ do this time?” Knowing that they were talking about Peter, Tony could prepare himself for anything, but he’d always end up being surprised. He had Happy send over some of the voicemails the kid left just so he could hear them for himself.

Through the phone, Happy rubbed beneath his glasses. _“He’s blowing up my phone, that’s what. The kid’s got no self-control. I’ve had twenty-seven missed calls since last Friday. We only got back from Germany that Thursday.”_

Tony grimaced. “Yikes,” he whispered. “He’ll burn it off, Hap, just give him time. The little tike is just excited.”

 _“Hey, I have an idea,”_ Happy said, _“why don’t you let him call you instead? I’m tired of being the point man, Tony. He’s talkin’ my ear off about M &M thieves and the muffin man.”_

“The muffin man?”

Happy nodded. _“The muffin man.”_

“Who lives on Drury Lane?”

He rolled his eyes. _“Peter likes to name criminals. It was some drunk guy who smelled like blueberry muffins. The muffin man.”_

Tony chuckled. He forgot kids had weird senses of humor, and in a way, he missed it. As he stared down at the sun setting below the clouds, his smile faded. “I feel bad for the kid, Hap. I didn’t wanna rope him into things, but once I saw what he could do, I felt this obligation. Obligation to give him that jumpstart and make him the hero he wants to be. But I just can’t get involved. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Maybe it was the phone or maybe it was the wifi, but in the next few moments of silence, Happy seemed to understand.

 _“What are you gonna do about him then?”_ he asked.

“About the kid?”

Happy nodded.

Tony didn’t like the question. It was loaded, and he hadn’t prepared for it. He shouldn’t have made the suit, he shouldn’t have knocked on their door that day, he shouldn’t have gotten involved in the kid’s life if he knew he didn’t want anything to do with it. It was Tony’s fault, and the only plan he had was to wait it out.

 _“I hate to say it, Tony,”_ Happy continued, _“but you signed onto something when you recruited him.”_

“I didn’t _recruit_ him—”

 _“You did.”_ Happy narrowed his eyes, but it didn’t have much of an effect through the phone screen. _“You recruited him. You brought him to Germany to fight your superhero pals and then dropped him off with a high-tech suit he barely has any access to. You needed him, you helped him—and if he needs you, Tony, what’re you gonna do?”_

Tony’s expression twisted, and he could hardly look his friend in the eye. He took another bite of his steak instead. “What? You want me to say I’m gonna babysit him?”

_“No, of course not.”_

“Then what do you mean?”

Happy sighed. _“I_ ** _mean_** _that you knowingly brought a kid onto your team, set up this whole fake internship thing, gave him a multimillion-dollar suit, and then fed him to the wolves. He’s a fourteen-year-old Avenger—”_

“Not an Avenger,” Tony grumbled. He wanted to hang up the call, but something was telling him not to.

 _“Doesn’t matter,_ ” Happy said. _“He’s young. You know what you did, Tony. You’re gonna have to either step up and be his mentor or let him down gently and have him hate you forever. Sucks to hear, but it’s a responsibility you agreed to when you first met him.”_

“I was _desperate_ , Hap,” Tony replied, exasperated and less-than-welcoming of being told what to do.

_“You were gonna give him that suit either way.”_

Tony frowned. He couldn’t catch a break. The past two months had dragged him through the mud, and the more he struggled to free himself, the more he felt he was drowning. He made Spider-Man’s suit on a whim—it was something to keep his mind off of the crushing reality he was facing. The idea excited him, so he pursued it, and now, it sat as the only stable thing in his life. Happy had a point. Tony had a responsibility.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “You are. You’re right. Wallow in it now, Hogan, but don’t let me catch you rubbing it in my face later.”

Happy laughed. Tony was lucky to have him. He was _happy_ to have him.

“I’ll try, Hap,” Tony stated with a weak smile. “I’m gonna try.”

_“I understand you don’t wanna get attached, Tony, so—”_

“Whoa, whoa—” He raised a brow and leaned forward, and the phone moved with him. “Who said anything about getting attached? I didn’t say anything. I certainly never said a damn thing about that.”

 _“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way_ ,” Happy said. _“I really meant that I’m still here for the kid if you need time. And if there’s ever an emergency, I can just—”_

“I can have a suit out there in minutes.”

 _“A suit?”_ Happy furrowed his brows. _“You’re not seriously talking about Iron Man.”_

“I wouldn’t be _in_ the suit,” Tony said, shrugging.

Happy shook his head, but the action could hardly be seen with the camera only showing the lower half of his face.

“What?”

 _“Nothing,”_ Happy mumbled with a smile. _“It’s just nice to hear you talk about it again, I guess. Weird to think that I actually kind of miss it.”_

Tony fought back his own smile. Sometimes he missed Iron Man, too. “Happy?” he asked.

_“Yeah, boss?_

“I’m hanging up now.”

_“Hey, c’mon—”_

Tony ended the call and placed his phone into the inside of his jacket. He hated to admit that Happy was right, but he _was_. With the world falling apart around him, Tony found a bit of solace in Spider-Man, even if he was just a kid named Peter.

* * *

Tony kept the door to Morgan’s bedroom closed.

The movers downstairs had almost finished packing up what was left of the kitchen. A week ago, Tony stripped the home free of JARVIS and every bit of tech that screamed a profit for the new buyer. All that was left were the bare bones of a mansion he’d spent the past fifteen or so years in—a place he only learned to see as home once Morgan came into the picture. And now it wasn’t home anymore. It was an old life.

This time, he wasn’t looking for an excuse to rid himself of memories and possessions. He was allowing himself to move on. To move to New York, to find refuge in a team he hardly trusted to begin with. Tony wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing, but he couldn’t sit around on his ass any longer.

He stood face-to-face with Morgan’s door, with the drawings and the swim meet ribbons taped against it. Nothing had been touched in months. The thought of going in made Tony sick to his stomach.

He could leave it there. He could demolish the home and everything else in it. Or he could face his grief like his therapist had been telling him to.

Tony placed a hand on the doorknob and took a breath. It wasn’t supposed to be easy. Once he turned the knob, his feet took him from there, and he couldn’t stop the heaviness from pouring into his chest. He couldn’t walk any further.

It had been Morgan. His thirteen years of living were stuck to the furniture in that room. They were painted on the walls and written on unfinished homework assignments. All of the clothes he’d grown up wearing, the toys he stopped playing with, and the bed he grew into.

Tony didn’t know it, but he had been standing there for five minutes. And all he could do was cry.

He was quiet as the tears fell, not a whimper leaving his lips while he stared at the memories before him. It used to be just a room, a simple, messy room that Tony once designed himself. The day he heard he had a son, he bought a crib and made a nursery. The minute he found out that the son would only belong to him, he vowed to keep him safe as long as they both lived. It was a hard reality to face as Tony felt the carpet beneath his feet. This was no longer his son’s room anymore.

If he had gotten a few more days on earth, Tony would have said the things he never had before. He would have told Morgan that life was once so tragic until he came in. There were parties, drinking, girls, and gambling, and yet, when Tony met his son, all he could think about was the future they would share together.

While there were times when Tony knew he fell short as a father, he never ceased to remember that he had the greatest son on earth.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice was soft behind him.

He hadn’t heard her approach. He hadn’t even moved since he got there.

She walked up next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tony.”

When he looked at her, she could finally see what being in here meant to him. She could finally see how hard it was to let go.

She smiled as her own tears started to fall. “The movers will be up here shortly,” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder.

He nodded. “I have to—I have to say goodbye.”

As he glanced around the room, he made sure to memorize every detail. Every photo on the wall and book on the shelf. From the crinkles in his bedsheets to the color-coded closet in the corner. Tony studied every bit in that room and stored them away in his memories. He unplugged the lamp on the table beside Morgan’s bed as he knelt down beside his pillow.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony breathed out, lip trembling as he smoothed out the creases in the comforter. He smiled, and hot tears slipped down his cheeks before he could catch them. “I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. Okay? A-and I love you. Very much. I’ll see you soon.”

Pepper was still there when Tony stood up. He didn’t turn around to face the room again. He didn’t pause to take one last glance. He let it all go and walked out with the room still heavy in his heart.

* * *

They walked in silence—five feet apart without sparing a glance. Tony could tell that Peter thought the punishment was unjust. Hell, in a way, Tony thought it was too, but lessons had to be learned. He had been a father long enough to know that— _no_ , he wasn’t going to bother comparing the two. For now, Tony saw Peter as a kid who would do anything to prove himself.

That wasn’t what Tony wanted. He wanted Peter to be safe so _he_ didn’t have to keep Peter safe.

_If you even cared, you’d actually be here._

The words rang in Tony’s head. He was mad, he was livid, but those words still stung. It was normal for him to be accused of not caring. He wasn’t even sure where his caring lied. Nothing hurt worse than knowing that all Peter wanted was for Tony to just _care._

He needed to work on it. He promised he would be better. For Morgan.

But, in a way, Tony was mad because he _did_ care. He didn’t want to see Peter go after something so dangerous. He didn’t want to see Peter get killed, and he didn’t want to be responsible for it either. He couldn’t bear it.

_I just wanted to be like you._

Tony couldn’t stop himself from saying, _“and I wanted you to be better.”_ Because for the first time since knowing Peter, he had sounded like Morgan, and Tony didn’t know what to feel. Their past short conversations and recent heated argument had proved nothing to him, and yet now, it all hit like a ton of bricks. Maybe he could grow to like the kid if he just gave him a chance.

Happy met them at the Waterfront District in Brooklyn. Between bougie shops and hipster joints, he had parked beside a dumpster in an abandoned parking lot.

“A bit too arcane, Hap,” Tony said as they approached. Peter hung off of his tail by a half-mile it seemed. “Total creep vibes you’re giving off. What do ya got?”

Happy stuck his head out of the tinted window. “Next time don’t call me ten minutes before you need me. I didn’t have enough time for a Marc Jacobs shopping spree.”

As Tony approached, Happy handed over an odd assortment of clothes along with foam slides on top. He looked back at the kid before raising a brow at Tony.

“Is he all right?” Happy asked.

Peter stood nearly twenty feet away, hands clasped together in front of him with his head ducked low. He wasn’t all right. He was far from it actually, and it radiated off of him. Tony hated to see it.

“Some strong words were said,” Tony stated, firmly gripping what looked to be Hello Kitty pajama pants. “I think I’m gonna end up regretting them.”

“You think?”

Tony turned toward Peter who was drawing lines in the dirt with his foot. It was in moments like these when Tony remembered that he was, in fact, only a kid. “Pete,” he said lowly as he walked in his direction.

Peter’s mask was on, yet his eyes were wide as he looked up. Tony was glad he couldn’t see how torn up he was underneath. He handed over the stack clothes, and Peter took them hesitantly.

“Don’t worry—they’re designer,” Tony mentioned.

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod or give an affirmative shrug. Instead, he trudged over to a dumpster and changed behind it, meanwhile, Tony contemplated taking everything he said right back.

“Does this mean you’re done with him?” Happy said, voice quiet so the kid couldn’t hear.

Tony felt his heart shrivel at the words. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Hap.”

Peter came out from behind the dumpster with the suit wadded up in his hands. His hair had fallen in curly strands on his forehead, and his shoulders were slumped to make him look smaller. Tony fought the urge to reach out and hug him.

“Lookin’ great, Mister Parker,” Tony remarked, although he wished he hadn’t.

Peter glanced up with red-rimmed eyes, and the corners of his lips barely twitched. The pity-party scheme wasn’t going to work on Tony, but it was damn near close. He’d experienced that a handful of times in his life.

The suit exchange was quick. Peter handed it off to Tony without another word, yet before he slipped into the backseat of Happy’s car, he finally worked up the nerve to face Tony again.

“Mister Stark,” Peter whispered. “If you could just let me explain—”

“You remember the address, don’t ya, Hap?” Tony called to Happy.

“Yeah, sir, I do.”

Tony smiled at Peter. It was one of his infamous smiles, entirely fake and not well-read. “Off you go, Mister Parker. Your aunt has probably called the entire city by now.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Bye, Mister Stark.”

“Bye, kid.”

Tony watched as Happy sped off down the expressway, breaths heavy so he could even out the panic numbing his chest. It wasn’t supposed to go down like that. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Peter relied on him, and now Tony held his suit with shaky hands.

He had a feeling that he pushed something away. Something that he had been waiting for, longing for, for close to four years. Tony did care. 


	4. don't thank me yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan receives bad news, and Tony starts to see that Peter means more to him than he realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm not great with the medical stuff so if i got a few things wrong i'm sorry

_“Sir, Morgan appears to be having a grand mal seizure. He requires immediate attention.”_

Tony had been in the workshop fixing up his son’s bike. There were punctures in both tires, a locked pedal, and eleven broken spokes—how the hell Morgan even managed to break one, let alone eleven, completely baffled Tony. It was late at night, possibly midnight but he wasn’t sure, and he needed to keep his hands busy in the midst of avoiding sleep. Otherwise, his own thoughts would drive him mad. One month ago, he had been chewing pavement in the heart of New York City with a hoard of aliens buzzing around him. Now, he was back home, but nothing was the same.

He was having headaches lately, mild ones, and Morgan was too. Tony consumed as much caffeine as he could to alleviate the pain. No sleep was better than nightmares anyway. But Morgan’s headaches wouldn’t go away no matter what.

At the sound of JARVIS’s voice, Tony froze. _Seizure_. His son? That wasn’t right. “What?” he whispered, and his hands immediately began to shake. Run. His stool screeched before hitting the floor as he raced toward the stairwell.

Seizure. Morgan. Help. _Run_.

Tony tripped up the stairs, smashing his knee hard down onto the concrete—yet he couldn’t feel the pain. Pain was the least of his worries. _Morgan._

There were too many stairs. Tony wouldn’t hesitate to invent teleportation if it meant he could be at his son’s side faster. By the time he nearly broke through his bedroom door, Morgan was on the floor, breathing heavily with his eyes wide open.

“Kiddo,” Tony said, falling to his knees beside his son’s head. Morgan’s eyes met his, but Tony was too afraid to touch him. “Are you there? Morgan, what happened?”

Morgan mumbled something incoherent at first. Meanwhile, Tony could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Was there blood? Check for blood. Why would there be blood? Did he hit his head? Did he fall? Why can’t he speak? Why did he have a seizure? A seizure? Morgan? _Help_.

“Hey, buddy, I need you to talk to me,” Tony continued, and he knew it wasn’t the best idea to sound so frantic. He hadn’t been sleeping, and coffee was the primary source of his diet—there wasn’t a single calm bone in his body anymore.

Morgan hummed and blinked. “Hey.”

Tony let out a sigh, sitting back onto the floor and setting a shaky hand on his chest. His fingers were numb. Not dead. Morgan’s not dead. _Seizure?_ Tony couldn’t collect his thoughts.

“You okay?” his son asked. He wasn’t making an effort to move.

“Am I—what?” Tony raised his brows.

Morgan lifted his torso, but he pushed himself back down again as a wince overcame him. He raised a hand to his head. “Head. M-my—ow.”

Tony nestled his hand beneath Morgan’s head to help him up slowly. Once he was situated and sat up against his bed, Tony closed his eyes. A seizure. His kid had a goddamn seizure, and he hadn’t been there to make sure he was okay.

Morgan leaned over his knees. “I’m nauseous.”

“Do you need a bowl?” Tony asked, preparing to stand up. “I’ll get you a bowl. I’ll be right—”

“No.”

He lowered himself back onto his knees. “You’re nauseous. You—”

“I’m fine.” Morgan bit his lip, holding onto his head with both hands while keeping his gaze low.

“Morgan,” Tony said. It hurt to breathe. Could he breathe? He couldn’t do this. He wanted to panic. “W-what are you feeling? Tell me what you’re feeling. Talk to me, please. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Morgan breathily replied. A tear rolled down his cheek. “My head.”

“What about your head?”

“Hurts.”

Tony sat closer. “JARVIS? What can I do?”

_“The seizure only lasted twenty seconds, sir. Morgan is not experiencing any complications. No further actions are needed.”_

“Seizure?” Morgan asked.

“His head, J. What about his head?” Tony placed a hand on Morgan’s cheek and wiped away a few tears.

_“A headache may occur after a grand mal seizure.”_

Tony inhaled, letting as much air fill his lungs before attempting to slow down his mind. Seizure. Headache. Morgan is okay. _Right?_ “You’re okay, kiddo,” he said, although he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Would you like anything? Pancakes? Tylenol? A dog? I’ll get you anything. What would make you feel better?”

Morgan looked up at Tony with sad, watery eyes. His lip trembled as he said, “a hug. I just want a hug.”

Tony smiled and nodded. “You can get as many hugs as you fucking want, kiddo,” he said, wrapping his arms around his son’s shoulders.

“ _Dad_ ,” Morgan muttered. He hugged back and held on tight. “Language.”

* * *

Happy hadn’t relayed a single message to Tony since the ferry incident. And it felt wrong.

Somehow, Tony’s day had revolved around the latest Parker news and the mishaps of Spider-Man saving a beloved Queens resident from getting hit by a revolving door at the bank. For an entire summer and so on, not two hours would pass without a text or a phone call. But then came nothing.

Tony thought it would be beautiful. Pure bliss was how he explained it to Pepper—they had reconciled after a long few months apart, and _that_ was pure bliss. He thought he’d be kissing the face of every stranger he passed because he no longer had a teenager under his wing. Except he felt oddly empty. He checked his phone periodically for Happy’s “Bug Reports”, but nothing appeared, and, unlike the saying, something came from that nothing.

When the updates stopped, Tony lost a sense of security. At least it meant that Peter couldn’t be Spider-Man without the suit; right? No, that was why it felt so wrong. Tony knew that the kid took matters into his own hands, despite the limitations he faced. When Tony took away the suit, he realized that he no longer offered Peter Parker his protection, and that terrified him.

He was going to change his mind. Within the next twenty-four hours, Tony was prepared to take everything back. Instead of being impulsive for once in his life, he waited it out.

He waited until he stopped feeling like he had given up on an opportunity—one he _had_ been excited for yet refused to admit it. All because Peter was a kid, the whole thing changed.

Tony was on a yacht off of Mykonos when Happy’s call came through. The time difference hardly mattered—Tony hadn’t been sleeping anyway, and he had done his worst by mixing his acid reflux with sea sicknesses and a few trays of fresh fruit. He picked up the call right when he saw it was Happy.

Either it was about Peter or the plane, and neither would be good.

“Hap,” Tony said, swaying slightly as he stood. He walked out onto the deck where he could see the town in the distance. The lights danced upon the water, and the moon was high above the steady waves. “Please tell me it’s not bad news.”

There was heavy breathing on the other end. _“Tony,”_ Happy began, _“I—shit. H-he took down the plane.”_

Tony closed his eyes. _Shit_ was right. That was everything. The plane had _everything_. “What happened, Happy?” he asked slowly. He tried his best to not sound angry; meanwhile, his free hand was in a fist on the deck’s railing.

_“Peter took down the plane.”_

Tony’s brows furrowed.

_“That guy he’d been after—”_ Happy said—he seemed exasperated, and there was a lot of background noise behind him, _“—he apparently had this plan. This heist. And Peter took down the plane to keep him from taking it all. Saved everything, Tony. The kid fucking saved everything. All of our tech. And we got the guy, too. Peter webbed him up and vanished. I haven’t been able to reach him.”_

Tony glanced over the ship at the dark water below. But he pushed down his destructive idea as his thoughts translated into words. “I didn’t know about a heist,” he mumbled, still wrapping his mind around the story he heard. Was Peter okay?

_“I didn’t either,”_ Happy replied. _“I don’t know why Peter wouldn’t try to tell us that.”_

“Because we scared him.”

_“What?”_

Tony sighed. He was still mad, but it was all aimed at himself. “We scared him. Simple. We told him to fuck off and stand on his own two feet. And he did. Just look at how he did it.” He set his arms on the railing and leaned over. “God, am I just a dumbass, Happy? Was I supposed to cradle the kid and patch up his boo-boos? I haven’t a goddamn clue as to what I really want, and I’ve been big on calling this whole thing a mistake when I know that it’sjust _not_. I make poor decisions, but I don’t make _mistakes_.”

Happy didn’t speak up for a few seconds. When he did, he sounded confident. Cocky. Like he had known the answer all along. _“You didn’t make a mistake, boss. You care for the kid. It doesn’t seem like you like that, but it’s true. It seems like you know what you have to do. I mean, he stopped a guy from stealing an entire plane.”_

Tony nodded to himself. There were a million counteracting thoughts popping into his brain, but those were all easy responses. He didn’t want to trust the easy route. So, he followed his gut, and he didn’t refuse it for once. “Gimme two days,” he said. “And then the world will meet our newest addition to the team.”

* * *

"Is he in there?”

Pepper sat beside Tony before he noticed she was there. They were in some waiting room, in some hospital, in some strange new headspace neither of them were familiar with. No diagnosis, just pain, fear, and a lot of jumped-to conclusions.

Tony nodded. “CT scans were inconclusive,” he muttered, toying with the watch on his wrist. It was the only thing about him that showed his worth. He didn’t care what anyone saw him in these days, whether it was a pair of mesh gym shorts or unwashed joggers with a soy sauce stain on the left knee.

“What are they doing now?” she asked, reaching into her purse to pull out a granola bar for him.

He thanked her with a nod and unwrapped the packaging. “MRI,” he said. “They should be done any—”

Like clockwork, the door to the scanning room opened and Morgan walked out. Tony observed his sheepish meandering before standing to hand his clothes back to him. Morgan looked disoriented and uncomfortable, yet he didn’t give anyone the chance to ask about it as he headed toward the changing room.

Pepper turned to Tony once the door closed. “When did they say we could hear about results?”

Tony sat back down and answered with, “about one to two weeks. It depends on what they find.” It was easy for him to act cool and calculated when actually, he felt like his world was slowly crumbling down around him. He was experiencing things, his son was experiencing things. _Different_ things, like auditory hallucinations and splitting headaches, but enerving things nevertheless.

And Pepper was _great_. She was their rock. She was everything.

Morgan came shuffling out of the changing room a minute later, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of a school hoodie with a giant shark on the front. The sweatshirt had been a part of a bad batch—some dumbass had forgotten the ‘u’ in Malibu, resulting in Malib, and Morgan preferred to wear that one instead. He was tired and pale, and he shrugged when Pepper asked him how he felt.

“Got a headache,” he mumbled. “No big deal. They said the dye they injected could do that. Give me a headache or other stuff.” Morgan shrugged again. “Can we go to Marmalade Café after this?”

“You have to go back to school—”

“Sure, kiddo, we can do that,” Tony said, nodding at Pepper as he stood. “I won’t rent out the place like last time—if that’s what you prefer.”

Morgan stifled a laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I prefer.”

Tony set his arm around his son’s shoulders as the doors to the scanning room opened again. A technologist stood there with a nervous smile.

“Mister Stark, hi,” the man said, walking over to shake hands. “I’m Jordan. I just performed your son’s MRI. It’s nice to meet you.”

Tony gave the guy a half-grin and a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he replied, yet his tone hardly met the standards of his words. There was a shift in energy the minute Jordan stepped out into the waiting area.

“Now, normally we wouldn’t be getting your results back to you for about a week,” he said as he slowly backed toward the doors, “but there is something we would like to talk to you about. If you could follow me—”

Tony glanced down at Morgan, checking to see his eyes for any worry or fear, but there was nothing. Pepper seemed confused; meanwhile, Tony’s heart had leaped into his throat. The three of them followed Jordan through the screening room and into a much darker, smaller room. Three other radiologists and technologists, including a doctor, stood around a few monitors showing Morgan’s brain.

Tony knew—he just _knew_ —it was nothing but bad news.

Morgan’s hand slipped into his as they pointed it out to them. A mass. A white blob in the left frontal lobe of his brain. A tumor.

The air was knocked from Tony’s lungs. His son hated crying in public, but on that day, it was impossible to care. Not Iron Man, nor aliens invading New York, had changed his life quite like Morgan had. Morgan _was_ Tony’s life.

And that was slipping, too.

* * *

Tony was lucky his car had been in park when Peter called, otherwise, slamming his foot down on the gas would have had a higher consequence. Wasn’t the kid supposed to be in school? And also, who the hell gave Peter his number? Tony picked up immediately.

“Mister Parker, I believe you’re supposed to be in—what is it, Calculus?” Tony asked, checking to make sure his heart monitor had calmed down from the near-heart attack he experienced a second ago.

_“How do you know that?”_ the teen asked a bit squeakily.

Tony chuckled. “I have my ways. Whatcha need?” He looked over at the restaurant next door where Pepper was currently ordering them take-out.

_“Oh, well—”_ Peter cleared his throat on the other end. _“I keep forgetting to do this, and I figured it would be rude of me to just text it, so I decided that calling would be the best option. And I’m only calling at this very moment because it literally just crossed my mind, and I knew I would forget if I didn’t—”_

“Slow down, kid, you’ll swallow your tongue,” Tony remarked. God, the kid was something, wasn’t he? Pepper could take as much time as she wanted. “What are you forgetting—or, _not_ forgetting for that matter?”

_“I just wanted to say thank you,”_ Peter said. _“F-for the suit. For the offer. For everything. For letting me be Spider-Man.”_

Tony’s smile grew. “C’mon, Mister Parker, you were already Spider-Man. Don’t give me credit for that. You proved yourself. You’re more than a suit.” He could practically feel the kid’s grin from the other end. “But, don’t thank me yet, kid. I could change my mind at any point. We don’t need you in those rags anymore, so behave or I’ll tell Aunt May all about our little secret.”

Peter laughed nervously. _“Actually, she kinda found out.”_

“Found out?” Tony raised a brow. “As in, you totally made it so obvious that you didn’t even have to _tell_ her?”

_“…yeah.”_

“Jesus, kid,” Tony muttered, chuckling slightly. “How’d she react? Are you actually at school, or are you deep-cleaning the entire apartment right now to make up for it?”

_“A lot of yelling,”_ Peter said. _“We both kinda freaked out at first, but then I realized that I just needed to let her rant before I really explained anything. After that, it was pretty easy. She seemed understanding. I don’t think she’s happy about it though. Also, she hates you.”_

Tony laughed again. “But there’s so much to love about me.”

_“I tried telling her.”_

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed Pepper walking out of the restaurant with two paper bags full of food. His stomach growled at the sight. “What’re you up to tonight, kid?”

_“Uh, nothing really,”_ Peter answered slowly. _“Got some homework. Probably was gonna swing around for a bit. Why?”_

Tony smiled at Pepper as she opened the car door. She looked at him quizzically, and he mouthed ‘Peter’ to her while she settled in her seat. “Got your suit with you?”

_“Yeah.”_

“I’ll pick you up after school then,” Tony said, smiling as he spoke. “I’ll teach ya how to tinker away at that scrap of fabric—maybe give it some new adjustments. Or, you can sit and watch me yell at DUM-E for four hours. Your choice. School ends at 2:45, yeah?”

Peter was hesitant to answer. _“Y-yeah. Wow, Mister Stark, are you sure? You don’t have to—I mean, yeah, duh, I’d love to hang out, but if you’re busy or have other plans, I really don’t—”_

“You’re rambling again, kid.”

_“Sorry.”_

“I’ll see you at 2:45,” Tony said. “If that one friend of yours—the one that Happy hung up on—wants to come say hi, I guess I wouldn’t be opposed.”

_“Great, okay, thanks,”_ Peter replied. His excitement was pouring through the receiver. _“See you then, Mister Stark.”_

“See you then, Mister Parker.”

Pepper was smiling, and she wore that knowing-look on her face as he placed his phone in the console’s cupholder. “Peter?” she asked. “As in, the kid you asked to be an Avenger who then rejected you?”

Tony scrunched his nose and started the car. “Okay, that’s not _exactly_ what happened.”

Pepper laughed.

“But, yes—” Tony said, pulling out into the street. He couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face. “— _that_ Peter.”

Pepper didn’t say anything in response, but he could feel her eyes on the side of his head. When he looked over, she was smirking.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. It didn’t seem like ‘nothing’. “So, you’ve got yourself a protégé now?”

Tony smiled. “Yeah. I guess I do.”


	5. bed-stuy bad guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has been through a lot. Morgan almost loses a friend, and Tony is afraid of losing everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took me a hot minute to get back to this but i did. and now it's 4 AM 
> 
> i'm so worried i'm accidentally gonna interchange Jarvis and Friday bc of how often i switch back and forth lol

Pepper sat beside him, but Tony wasn’t there. Not mentally.

“—that would be lovely, yes,” she said. “We were thinking of lilies and chrysanthemums for the memorial service. If it would be easier—oh, yes, of course. Cremation. No, no, he didn’t make any pre-arrangements. I assure you that—yeah, I have all of the documents right here. O-oh, no, a clergy won’t be necessary. We’d prefer to keep it minimal. Only a few speakers. He was never a part of a—no, thank you. We would like a burial.”

Pepper’s hand rested on Tony’s. He couldn’t move his fingers. He couldn’t hear a word anyone else was saying.

He was sitting on a couch in a funeral home, talking about the plan to bury his son. His dead son. Morgan. _His fucking son_.

Tony wanted to throw up. He wanted to burn the place down to the ground—with its gaudy woven walls and brown leather sofas. The grandfather clock and the fake house plants. The taffeta curtains and the fucking binders full of caskets and urns to choose from.

Parents shouldn’t have to do this. Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children. But Tony was there with warm blood still pumping in his veins and an emptiness throbbing against the walls of his chest.

He remembered the memorial arrangements for his parents. He remembered sitting on a couch similar to the current one, listening to the mortician talk to his butler while Tony begged his brain to feel something. _Just feel something_. He couldn’t blink a tear away because there were none. There had been a different kind of emptiness that day, one void of love that only prickled for the loss of his mother. Once his butler died, Tony learned a little bit about what grief truly felt like.

He couldn’t have imagined it felt like this.

Nothing and everything all at once. His lip trembled.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice was sweet and caring. She was so lovely, so wonderful. He didn’t deserve her.

She loved Morgan. She loved him so much.

He turned and let his hand tighten around hers. The mortician had left.

“We can go home,” she said to him, trying her best to smile. He could see the corners of her lips faltering, and the sadness in her eyes reflected his.

Tony nodded. He couldn’t speak, yet he stood with as much strength as he could muster. His suit felt loose around him. As they walked, he kept his hand in hers. If he let go, he was worried he would lose her, too.

* * *

“Yeah, you see that, FRI?” Tony pulled his body out from under the sink, his back cracking in the process. “Those bastards really did it, huh? Coffee grounds as far as the eye can see. That shit’s as good as cement, and with that amount of corrosion—no doubt.”

 _“I think you’ve forgotten that I’m not sentient,_ ” FRIDAY remarked. _“I can’t see what you see, boss.”_

“The least you could do is pretend for me,” he said. “You know I’m lonely.” He leaned back against the cabinets with a sigh. Checking the kitchen sink for a clog had been the least of his worries when he woke up, but all it took was screwing in a few lightbulbs for the software in his brain to completely rewire itself. By the afternoon, he had designed five new repulsor engines for the Quinjets along with repairing anything he could get his hands on.

 _“Sorry,”_ the AI said. _“You’ll always have me.”_

He chuckled and stared at the ceiling. He was tired, and he hadn’t lied. He was lonely. While he still had Pepper, he missed a few friendly faces that used to reside in these halls. Now it was empty. Lifeless.

Tony couldn’t lie to himself—the few times he had Peter swing by, there was suddenly a shift in energy, one the compound had been missing for quite some time. The kid was a nice asset, but Tony wasn’t getting attached. Not one bit.

“All right,” he began, setting his hand on the open cabinet to lift himself up, “I’m gonna have to get an industrial-sized Drano for this one, and we’re gonna need to—”

_“Boss, you’re getting an incoming call from Peter Parker.”_

Tony picked up his phone from beside him, and Peter’s goofy contact picture stared right back, smiling a little too wide for it to be considered normal. _Great._ “So he is,” Tony muttered to himself before answering the call. “This better be good, Mister Parker. I’ve got a lot goin’on. Kitchen drains don’t just fix themselves.”

 _“And if they did,”_ Peter started, voice straining as he let out a pained groan, _“you would go back and fix what they fixed.”_

Tony didn’t like what he was hearing. It wasn’t the words—since, honestly, the kid was right—but it was how he said them. Every breath between his words was filled with urgency, and Tony had been in the hero business long enough to know when a fellow comrade was down.

“You’ve got a point…” Tony raised an eyebrow. In an instant, he pulled up holographic data on Peter’s location and vitals. “Where you at, kid? You all right?”

The question was meant to be rhetorical. Peter’s vitals were something that the doctors would call a medical mystery, and half of that was to do with his odd biochemistry. The other half was because his oxygen levels had dropped and his heart rate was skyrocketing.

 _“Fine, totally—”_ Peter took a deep breath. _“Fine. H-hey, I’m gonna need a—shit—_ ”

“You’re gonna need a shit?”

 _“I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dinner, Mister Stark,”_ Peter said, gasping, and Tony felt his heart tighten at the sound.

_No, no, not again. You’re okay. It’ll be okay._

Tony clenched his trembling fingers into a fist. The kid was in Bedford-Stuyvesant, _somehow_ , and the more he spoke, the more his levels dipped and spiked again. And Tony wished, most of all, for Peter to stop acting like it was no big deal.

There weren’t many things that Tony showed physical distress for, but when the people he cared for were hurt, his anxiety could no longer be masked through wit or poorly-timed humor. He knew too much about fear to ever be okay with it; he was afraid the emotion alone would be enough to kill him one day.

“Pete, I’m coming to get you,” Tony said, returning the data back down onto his phone as he stood. _God_ , what was he doing? _What was he doing?_ “Stay put. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

 _“It’s okay, M’ser Stark, I swear,”_ Peter replied. _“Just having a bit of troubling breathing. Hurts to talk.”_

“So stop fuckin’ talking, just keep me on the line,” Tony replied. As long as he could hear the kid’s breathing, everything would be fine. He let his feet carry him down halls while he tapped at his watch. His brain was too busy running through questions and scenarios for him to care about stepping into the suit again. He placed his mic on mute. “FRIDAY?”

_“Mister Parker is experiencing an injury-related pneumothorax and requires immediate medical attention.”_

“What—what is that?”

“ _He has a severely collapsed lung, boss.”_

“Idiot,” Tony muttered as he made a b-line into his lab. A suit was there waiting for him. He didn’t have time to wallow in the fact that all he could think about was Morgan. This was why Tony wasn’t out on the field anymore—he couldn’t last a single moment.

 _“Really, Mister Stark, I’m fine,”_ Peter said in between quick breaths. _“C-can’t breathe deep though. Kinda sucks.”_

As Tony stepped into his suit, the call was transferred into his heads-up display. “Thought I told you to stop talking, kid,” he commented, heading outside before taking off into the sky.

His stomach tied itself into knots as he flew. He had worn the suit more times in the past few months than he had in three years, and it not only made him anxious, but it made him angry. This wasn’t something he wanted for himself. This wasn’t what he signed up for. But Peter’s safety—his _life_ —was more important than Tony’s internal conflict with wearing the suit.

He knew his past was going to dig itself back up with Peter now in the picture. Tony knew it from the minute he figured out that he was only a kid.

 _“Sorry,”_ whispered Peter, and he let out a few more groans. _“Loud.”_

“I’m on my way,” Tony said, trying to get his repulsors to go a bit faster. “That’s the wind you’re hearing.”

_“Oh.”_

A minute later, in Tony’s vision, the city sat below as a red figure diagnosed Peter’s injury in the HUD. Tony crossed over the Bronx while the screen displayed a wound over the kid’s left lung. Stab wound—possibly fatal if left unattended. Tony clenched his jaw and kept flying.

He wanted to be angry, but anger wasn’t what Peter needed.

“We’re not gonna cancel our dinner plans—” Tony said while flying over where the Harlem river met the East. The baseball fields on Randall’s Island were filled with a bunch of kids playing baseball, but he didn’t have the time to stop and wave as they watched him soar by overhead. “—because you’re gonna be all patched up and okay by then; okay, Pete? You hear me?”

Peter let out a dry cough. _“Ow. I hear you.”_

“Good,” Tony said. “One more minute, and then I’ve got you. Passing over Brooklyn as we speak.”

 _“Cool—cool beans,”_ the kid breathed out, and he then he hissed sharply. _“Didn’t feel this bad e-even when I used to—to have asthma attacks.”_

Tony started his descent once Peter’s tracking dot showed up in his vision. It was a little red spider. “You used to have asthma, kid?”

Peter hummed. _“B-before I—ow—before I got the bite. I think—I think I hear you. Is that—”_

“Hang on, I’m coming down,” Tony replied as he ceased his flying to hover above a rooftop. Below, the kid was sat against the foundation of a water tower, one hand clutching his side. Tony cut power in his repulsors and dropped down onto the roof.

“Hey,” Peter greeted quietly. “You really there?”

Tony bent down, faceplate lifting up as he reached over to take off Peter’s mask, too. “Yeah, kid, I’m here. Sit still. I’m gonna lift ya.”

Peter nodded. His face was badly bruised, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow, and the space below his nose was rubbed pink from where blood had once been. But the worst part about it was the large gash in his side and the many tears decorating the suit around it.

“It’s still daylight, Pete,” Tony said, setting his hands under Peter so he could hoist him into his arms. “How’d this happen?”

Peter shrugged, and he opened his mouth to speak, but instead, he cried out in pain.

“I know, I know—” Tony shut his mask to cloak the worry on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” whispered Peter. It wasn’t. While the kid had webbed up the wound to stop the bleeding, that didn’t mean it stopped the pain. Of all things, Tony knew how to identify pain. “Bad guy.”

“Bad guy?” Tony asked as he took off into the sky again. The kid looked so small in his arms, but he was alive.

Peter nodded. He kept his mask clutched close to his chest, and his eyes were closed. The wind nearly carried his voice away as he said, “Bed-Stuy bad guy.”

Tony chuckled. “Okay, sure. Bed-Stuy bad guy. You’re weird.”

Peter placed a finger on Tony’s chest. “You’re weirder,” he mumbled—his voice was almost too soft to hear. His eyelids flutter and he hummed.

“Stay awake, Pete,” Tony said, shaking his arms gently. It hardly stirred the arachnid. “I’m gonna get you help. Just—just don’t fall asleep. ‘Kay?”

There was no answer.

“C’mon, kid.”

Peter blinked. “Sorry,” he croaked. “Pain. Loud. Windy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Tony. He couldn’t fly fast enough if he tried. That was the next thing on his list for new additions. He couldn’t believe he was even considering making a new suit. “A few more minutes, kid, I promise. Just don’t leave me. _Don’t fucking leave me.”_

* * *

“Morgan H. Stark, if you walk out that door right now—”

“What?” Morgan turned around, not an ounce of hesitation or emotion over his expression as he folded his arms. “You’ll tell me to not come back? I don’t have to come back. I can run away. I’ll—I’ll leave and never return, and the entire world will blame you for it!” The more he spoke, the more his volume rose.

“Well, I was gonna say something like no Playstation for a month,” Tony said. He set a hand on his hip—as if that made him look any cooler or powerful, for that matter. It was his son. He didn’t need to assert anything. They just needed to talk openly.

But it was Tony. He could give advice, only he couldn’t take it.

Morgan set a hand on the door and clenched his jaw. “I’m going.”

“Morgan, I won’t tell you again.” Tony began, holding his hand out. His fingers trembled, and he wasn’t sure if it was anger or anxiety or a little bit of both. “The shore is too rocky, and if anyone—”

“Yeah, that’s why they call it The Rocks,” Morgan uttered.

“If anyone gets hurt—” Tony continued, his tone falling hard to keep it from quivering. “—God forbid, if _you_ got hurt, I—” He inhaled sharply. “Kids do stupid shit all the time, kiddo. If you think I’m upset about that, then that’s another conversation. But if you fell and hit your head, and somehow I couldn’t get to you fast enough…”

Morgan frowned, but the agitation behind his gaze never faded. He pushed on the front door and stepped one foot outside. “I’m going,” he said again. “You can’t stop me. I’m old enough now to hang out with my friends whenever I want. And you’re gonna have to deal with it.” He paused, sparing one last glance before adding, “bye.”

Tony didn’t know what to do. Still, after thirteen years, he had no idea how to parent. He didn’t know how to keep teens from rebelling or talking back. He didn’t know how to find the line between letting Morgan make his own choices while keeping him balanced because he was only thirteen for _fuck’s_ sake. Stupid choices were vital—he knew that. But they could also be fatal, and that terrified him.

He spent the night pacing and tinkering. Music blasted throughout the workshop; meanwhile, Pepper was sending a few dozen updates per minute from New York. Whether they were full of good news or bad news about construction of the tower, he didn’t want to hear any of it. Not right now. His main focus wasn’t his life’s work but instead the most important life that came from it.

“JARVIS,” Tony said, and the music stopped. The workshop was silent until he spoke again. “What’s the weather tonight?”

 _“It is currently sixty degrees Fahrenheit,”_ the AI replied. _“Partly cloudy with no precipitation in the area. Winds are eighteen miles per hour heading southeast. An increase may occur around midnight, and waves appear to be six feet in height, sir.”_

Tony took a breath, and just then, his phone rang. “Morgan? Hey? Everything okay?”

 _“Dad,”_ Morgan said, voice small and distressed while the wind crackled against the microphone. _“Dad, i-it’s—I need you to come. Jack slipped. He slipped. We can’t find him. Dad. Please.”_

Tony shot up from his chair and raced toward a suit as fast he could. He wasn’t equipped for this. He was never going to be. The suit was never going to feel like it belonged to him.

“I’ll be there in a few seconds, Morgan, hold on,” Tony replied. His words were quick, filled with the anxiety he had been feeling all throughout the night. “Stay on the phone.”

 _“Okay_ ,” his son whimpered.

The suit clasped around Tony, and he took off through the garage, meeting the sky like an old friend before he dipped back down toward the shore. His display focused on four figures a few miles away, but one of the targets was in the water and out past the break of the waves. Its marker kept flickering in and out.

Tony dove close to the water’s surface. The calls of his son and his friends were all he could hear in his mind as he spotted the kid in between the lapping waves. They weren’t large, but they were enough. Tony hoisted the kid into the air and brought him back to shore. When he set him down in the sand, he knew that something was wrong.

“JARVIS?” Tony asked.

_“The child is experiencing cardiac arrest.”_

He placed two hands over the kid’s chest and began compressions without thinking it over. “Morgan!” he called, lifting his faceplate as his son came rushing over. “You gotta call 9-1-1, buddy. I need you to call them for me. Can you do that?”

Morgan nodded swiftly and dialed, meanwhile, Tony couldn’t get the taste of metal out of his mouth. Stars infiltrated his vision while a bout of nausea overwhelmed, but he kept compressing and counting.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered to himself. If he lost focus, it lessened the chance of him dampening the strength of his armor. He wanted to keep the kid alive—not break every bone of his ribcage. And he was tired, but he kept pressing while the kid—just a fucking _kid—_ remained still on the sand.

Morgan came back a moment later. “Is—is he gonna—”

“We’re gonna make damn well sure, kiddo,” said Tony. He lifted the kid’s hoodie off of his body. “JARVIS, get the AED ready.”

In his HUD, the electrodes in the gauntlet’s palms charged to full capacity in under a second. Tony placed a hand on the upper left side of the kid’s chest and another on the lower right. He pressed down as the first shock was delivered, and Tony’s heart leaped to his throat. It had to work. It had to.

The electrodes charged once again.

“Anything, J?”

_“Still arrhythmic, sir.”_

“Come on!” Tony shouted and pressed down again. It wasn’t Morgan. It wasn’t his kid, but it was someone else’s. It was just a fucking _kid_. “Stay with me, stay with me.” Another shock was delivered.

“Come on, Jack,” Morgan pleaded. He was crying.

A few of the others said some things as well, all shouting Jack’s name and begging for him to wake up, but Tony couldn’t hear. He kept telling himself to keep going. Keep trying.

Another shock, and another shock. Tony wanted to scream.

“Goddammit, wake up!” he yelled, delivering one last shock. “JARVIS?”

_“He is still unconscious, but his heart rate has returned to normal, sir. You did it.”_

Tony sat back in the sand, hand clutching his chest while reaching for Morgan’s in the process. Everyone had surrounded him, and he hadn’t even noticed. A moment later, the sound of sirens drew near.

Jack woke up once the EMTs arrived. He knew little of where he was and what happened, but he couldn’t move. The pain in his chest was too immense, and he cried. Morgan was crying, and his friends were crying, too. Tony just stood there like a sore thumb in a clunky Iron Man suit.

He didn’t say much to the EMTs or the officers, but when he did, it was all about making sure the kids got home safely. He was taking Morgan home with him, no matter how badly the thirteen-year-old wanted to ride in the back of a cop car _“just for fun”_. And Morgan didn’t refuse. He hardly spoke as well.

When they got home, Morgan ran upstairs to his bedroom. Tony followed.

“Kiddo?” he asked quietly, knocking on the door. There wasn’t an answer. He knocked again, this time a little harder because, _dammit_ , all he wanted was to see his son’s face. All he wanted was to make sure his son was okay, alive, and breathing. From now until the end of time, the ocean was off-limits for good. “Morgan.”

“What?” called a small voice from inside.

Tony twisted the doorknob slowly. “Can I come in?” He peaked his head inside and saw Morgan curled up in a ball under his comforters. His heart broke at the sight. No one should ever have to witness what Morgan had seen earlier that night.

Tony walked over with careful steps before sitting down on the edge. Morgan’s back was to him, and his breaths were staggered and shallow. He had been crying.

“Hey,” Tony whispered, placing a hand on Morgan’s arm. “Please talk to me, kiddo. You don’t have to be alone.”

“I wanna be,” his son mumbled.

But Tony knew his son. Tony knew every single heartbreak and failed test. He knew the insomnia they both experienced after he came back from Afghanistan. Morgan’s father was Iron Man, and after everything—after every tear shed—they were together. Unless his son had somehow changed overnight, Tony just knew.

“No, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Morgan—”

Morgan turned over, his body still sideways yet now lying closer. His cheeks were stained with tears from his swollen eyes, and his cheeks were red and blotchy. “He almost died,” he said to his dad. “M-my friend almost died. And I just sat there watching. W-watching you bring him back.”

Tony lowered himself down and pulled the covers over his body so he could face Morgan. In an instant, Morgan pressed himself into Tony’s chest and sobbed.

“Kiddo,” Tony breathed out, soothing his son’s back as the cries wracked through him. “You were the one to call me, okay? You knew your friend was in trouble, and you made the effort to save him. You did what you could. I was able to be there as fast as I could, and I had the right tools. He’s lucky to have you. I know it’s hard—it’s hard for you and it’s gonna be even harder for him. It’ll take some time, and it’s gonna hurt. But you’re alive, okay? And he’s alive. Everyone is safe. I’m just glad I still have you.”

Morgan nodded into his chest. Instead of answering, he sniffed instead.

“Does Jack have any underlying conditions that you know about?” Tony asked.

Morgan shrugged. “He gets palpitations sometimes,” he answered, voice muffled by Tony’s shirt. “He can’t be on the swim team anymore because of it.”

Tony nodded and pulled his son closer. Silence and seconds passed by, and neither of them moved. Morgan’s crying slowed as his breathing evened out. As Tony’s eyes fell heavy, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead.

“You’re okay,” Tony whispered. “It will be okay.”

* * *

Tony had never been one to pace. It wasn’t a habit he picked up with the number of times he fell into scenarios like this one. Instead, his hands ached for tools, for anything they could mess with and tinker to pass the excruciatingly long time. Over the past few years, as the Avengers made themselves known far and wide, Tony kept himself hidden away. He worked behind the scenes, but his hands couldn’t keep still. He needed to work. He couldn’t stop working.

Now, he was scuffing the floors of the MedBay with his designer slippers that Pepper had bought for him on a weekend in Paris. He chewed his nails into oblivion, watching his six with every second he could in case a doctor came out with news. Helen, to his dismay, could not fly in from South Korea on time. Meanwhile, Peter was on hour five of having his body and lung stitched up, and Tony felt responsible.

He condoned this. He gave the kid his suit. He took the kid to Germany and congratulated him on his fine work with Toomes. He wanted to make the kid an Avenger for fuck’s sake, and while he blamed it on a lapse in judgment, Tony knew he wouldn’t have taken the offer back no matter what.

It was some late hour at night—Tony wasn’t sure, nor did he care. _God_ , he was so mad. Was he mad? The kid had gone off and gotten himself stabbed somehow, and Tony wanted to be mad. He wanted to be so furious so that the kid would lose all Spider-Man privileges again, but he couldn’t. No, Tony wasn’t mad. He was worried.

He knew the kid was going to be fine. Peter was going to live. But what if one day, the matter was totally different? That was why Tony was worried. This was going to happen again, somehow, some way, and he wasn’t sure he had the mental and emotional capability of handling it. Not anymore. Not after Morgan.

All of this was Tony’s fault. That was how it felt.

He sat by Peter’s bedside in Post-Op. The kid was out like a light, skin flushed and sickly like he had never been alive, but there was a heart beating in there. Somewhere. Right next to a healing lung and a tube sticking out of his side. That made Tony sick to his stomach.

He was used to waiting rooms and post-operation bedsides. Only, he had known his son that way. He hadn’t known Peter. Now, all Tony had was Peter.

Tony knew, as he stared down at Peter on that hospital bed, that he had come too far. It was too late for him not to grow attached to the kid. Peter had that spark—he had a light in his eyes that Tony once knew fairly well. And he missed it.

A lot.

Tony took Peter’s hand in his and held it loosely. They were still strangers. There would be arguments and heart-stopping moments. There was going to be a lot for both of them to learn. But Tony was willing. He was willing to get to know Peter for the good kid he was, Spider-Man and all. Tony would protect him as best as he could.

“I promise, kiddo,” he said, breathing out deeply. His throat tightened with his next words. “You’re gonna be safe with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! yeah u!   
> [come hang with me on tumblr](https://itsybitsyspiderling.tumblr.com/) ! 
> 
> real talk collapsed lungs suck. i've had my fair share and oof


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